


The Ocean That Was Not An Ocean

by a_slight_sweet_fiction



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil Is a Good Boyfriend, Crying, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Multi, Ocean, Rain, Sad, Tears, The Desert Otherworld, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_slight_sweet_fiction/pseuds/a_slight_sweet_fiction
Summary: When Carlos leaves the Desert Otherworld, Kevin remembers how to cry. The trouble is, he doesn't remember how to stop, and his tears fill the whole Otherworld, until the ocean starts leaking into Night Vale. Carlos investigates.





	The Ocean That Was Not An Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night, when my part of the world was long asleep. The idea came to me suddenly, in vivid mental images. It was short and sweet, and I wrote it all in one sitting, and here it is. It's not really supposed to fit into canon, but it happens fairly soon after Taking Off/Review.
> 
> It's supposed to read very simply and matter-of-factly, sort of like a children's book, so if you get that feeling, it was intentional.
> 
> I hope it is as good to read as it was to write, and that you enjoy it!

Carlos the Scientist left the Desert Otherworld, and Kevin remembered what it was to be sad again, and how to cry. He missed his friend, who he had loved. He missed his home. He missed everything, and he cried, and cried, so much that he never thought he would stop, and just when he thought his face couldn't get any wetter, it began to rain, and then pour, and then storm. The water tasted like salt.

 

Over the next months, the salt water filled up the whole Otherworld, until the lighthouse was the last structure that wasn't underwater.  And Kevin went to the top, and he cried there, too. It was a divine and melancholy rain that joined him, and even as he cried and cried, hardly stopping even to sleep, the pain began to fade from his body, just a little, although at first it was too imperceptible to notice. He set the light of the lighthouse to signal for help, even though he thought no one would see him.

 

After a while, it looked like the lighthouse might eventually go underwater too, so he built a boat and rowed, and rowed, and rowed. He rowed away from the lighthouse, and used the moon to guide him at night, too, but he always ended up circling that lighthouse, again and again. The water came closer to it, but did not yet lap at its foot. He cried from sadness, and also from frustration, now, and he bit his lip and rowed some more.

 

Back in Night Vale, water gushed from The House That Does Not Exist. Carlos shuddered to think of that house and what existed in it, but he was a scientist, after all, so he went down in the late evening and examined the water. He did this by tasting a little of it. He found that it was warm, and also salty and familiar, but not quite the kind of salty and familiar that ocean water was. He rubbed his chin, and said "hmm," and pressed a lot of buttons, and filled beakers with the liquid, and made it bubble. He even drew the chemical structure of water on a chalkboard, and circled it with a chalk heart. "HO2," he wrote, with an arrow pointed from it toward the heart. None of these things seemed to solve anything, but they were fun, and he liked doing them.

 

But, he did not find out what this not-ocean was made of before his boyfriend Cecil announced on the radio that some of the cracks in the Dog Park's walls were leaking.

 

He went to the Dog Park, where Cecil was reporting from. There were storm clouds far in the distance, inside of it. He tried not to acknowledge the Hooded Figures, and tried not to acknowledge the Dog Park directly, but did both of those things by accident. No one noticed, though, because everyone was wondering what those weird lapping sounds behind the walls were.

 

"It's probably just all the dogs, licking the walls," said Pamela Winchell. "Which, ugh, makes me  _so_  happy to think about! I _love_  dogs. Did you know how much I love dogs? It is basically an emergency that you don’t understand the depths of my undying love for dogs. I am going to hold an emergency conference for that specific thought instead, now, in this exact spot."

 

"I bet it's one really big dog," said John Peters, you know, the farmer? "I love dogs, too. I'm a farmer, by the way, you know. I just want to be clear about my profession."

 

"It's an ocean," said Josh Crayton, who had flown into the air to see, and he landed. "It goes on for miles, probably."

 

“Scientifically speaking, it’s not an ocean,” Carlos said to him, ignoring the others, although he, too, loved dogs, and would have loved to join in on that discussion under different circumstances. He loved most things, and most people. “I tested the water, and it is _not_ ocean water.”

 

“Still, really looks like an ocean,” said Josh, as a moth that fluttered in front of him.

 

Carlos thanked him. He said “hmm,” again, pensively, and wondered how he could climb the wall without being electrocuted, to see for himself.

 

Just then, a large wave poured over the side, and shorted out the fence in a loud, bright burst. People started to run away, but he had an opportunity, and the strongest feeling that he should do exactly the opposite. So, he did.

 

He scaled the fence as quickly as he could, amidst angry and confused shouts. Cecil shouted, too, but he was just confused.

 

“Carlos! What are you doing?” cried Cecil.

 

“I have no idea!” Carlos yelled back, over his shoulder, and then he reached the top.

 

The ocean that was not an ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, strangely calm considering the size of the wave that had just come over its edge. The fading sun had dipped below the horizon, and the mountain just to its right was illuminated by a soft, red glow. A light blinked on top of it.

 

“The lighthouse,” Carlos whispered. He turned, suddenly understanding, and shouted at Cecil, “The _lighthouse!”_

 

“What about it?” Cecil shouted back.

 

“It’s on! Someone turned it on! Someone…” he stopped, and he looked at those clouds again, and the not-ocean, and his eyes filled with strange tears. “Probably, someone we know...”

 

He wondered if Kevin was alright, in all that strangely-formulated water. He clutched at his abdomen, without realizing he was doing so. His heart ached, so his own strangely-formulated water ran down his face, and onto his lips, and into his mouth.

 

And then, almost imperceptibly, he heard a man weeping in the distance.

 

At first he did not recognize the man it was coming from, because he had never heard that man cry. But when he saw who the sound belonged to, even though he was just a tiny silhouette in a boat, he knew exactly who it was. He would always have known that silhouette, anywhere he saw it, as either Cecil or Kevin, and Cecil was shouting up at him from the ground.

 

“Carlos?” Cecil yelled. “What do you see?”

 

Carlos finally tasted his tears, and he suddenly understood something else.

 

“I see my friend! I see _Kevin,”_ he yelled. “He’s crying. _He_ must have made this ocean that is not an ocean!”

 

“He’s _what?!”_ Cecil cried, in a completely different sense. “That doesn’t sound like Kevin, at all!”

  
  
“I know,” Carlos said, and he was crying in the original sense, harder now. “But I see him in a boat, and I also hear him.” He saw small wisps of clouds forming above him, too, as his eyes spilled over again.

 

He _missed_ Kevin. He missed him so much that he could barely stand it, some days, and now, he was right there, just close enough to see and hear. He contemplated the water, and made a decision. “I’m going to swim to him!”

 

“Carlos, wait!” Cecil said. “Let me come up there, first!”

 

Carlos waited. He knew what he had to do, but he could wait for Cecil. He had already waited so long for Cecil, and he could wait for another minute. Cecil climbed up the wires, and reached the top, and stood next to Carlos. He heard and saw exactly what Carlos saw, and Carlos leant into his shoulder, and let his tears fall onto Cecil’s sleeve, grasping his arm with the grip of someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one, and who has seen that loved one again, but is unsure what to do with that feeling.

 

His beloved, lost friend was weeping an ocean of tears. His beloved, lost friend was in that distant boat, right there. Would he even want to see him? What would Cecil think? Did Cecil know why Carlos’ own tears were falling, now?

 

Cecil pulled him close.

 

“You cared about him,” Cecil said. “You loved him, even.”

 

“Cecil…”

 

“It’s okay,” Cecil said, softer. “I had the feeling you did, and I understand.”

 

“I love you,” Carlos said, holding his hand tight. “I love you so much.”

 

“I know that, and I love you too,” Cecil replied. “I am never, ever afraid that you don’t.”

 

Something warm and wet fell into Carlos’ hair, and he knew exactly what it was, even without tasting it first to check.

 

“So, go to him,” Cecil said. “Go to him, and bring him here. I’ll announce everything that has happened on the radio, and try to convince the town to finally do the right thing, and let him peacefully come home to Desert Bluffs, and get the support he needs to recover. I’ll do it just as soon as this intense weather is over.” He gestured to the clouds. _“Super_ unrelated, but that rain looks really heavy. Please be careful swimming underneath it.”

 

Carlos smiled through his tears, and the water lapped only a few feet below their own feet. “Thank you, Cecil.”

 

They kissed, and then, Carlos jumped in.

 

He swam and swam, and his tears kept flowing, joining the not-quite-sea below, and he could no longer tell which tears were his.

 

“Kevin!” he cried, and he also cried. “Kevin!”

 

The man in the boat stopped rowing. “Hello? Who’s there?” he also cried back, and _also_ also cried.

 

“It’s me!” Carlos cried some more. “It’s Carlos!”

 

“Oh!” the man yelped. _“Carlos!”_ he started rowing again, quickly, and toward Carlos. He finally saw the edge of the world, behind Carlos, after all this time.

 

Carlos wept, and swam, and did both of those things harder than he had expected to, and before long, he was being pulled into the boat by his hands.

 

He crawled on, into a puddle at the bottom of the boat, and panted for air. He looked at the man, and he really was Kevin, after all this time. He kept Kevin’s hands in his, and looked into his eyes, black like obsidian, and squeezed Kevin’s hands tighter as he hiccupped.

 

Kevin looked back at him. Tears streamed down his face. Carlos had never seen Kevin’s face make the expression it was making now, but Carlos liked his face just the same this way, and loved Kevin even more, now that he had seen it in this context.

 

Kevin let go of one of Carlos’ hands to pick up a bucket, which he dipped into the puddle until it filled, and then flung the water into the ocean that was not an ocean. He set the bucket down, and took Carlos’ hand again.

 

They sat, speechless, for a long moment. Carlos had so many things to say, and to ask, that he struggled to pick one. Kevin felt much the same way. But finally, Carlos chose a sentence.

 

“What happened, Kevin?” he asked, despite having a pretty good idea what had happened.

 

“I…” Kevin began, and his face screwed up again. “I’m _sad,”_ he choked. “I’m just so _sad,_ and I don’t remember how to stop being sad.”

 

“It’s okay to be sad, Kevin,” Carlos said, as new tears fell from his own eyes. “It really is.”

 

“The lighthouse is about to go underwater,” Kevin worried. “This started when you left. I remembered how to be sad, that day, but not how to stop. And since then, everything we built together has been submerged in that sadness, and so has everything else been, for so, so many reasons, and there is so much more to cry about than I ever expected, even knowing that was in denial about every single one of my feelings, even about happiness. I’m starting to worry that my whole life will be drowned in sadness, and that soon, even my body will be, too. When does it end, Carlos?”

 

“Maybe it won’t,” Carlos said, squeezing Kevin’s hands just tighter. “Maybe not completely. But I’m here. That doesn’t mean you won’t be sad anymore, but it _does_ mean that you don’t have to be sad _alone,_ right now. Okay?”

 

He gathered Kevin in his arms, and Kevin held him, too, and they cried together under the rain for a long time. The water rose a few more inches, without them realizing. But even so, something about this crying made Kevin feel warmer than before, and eventually, somehow, his cries turned to whimpers, and then shudders, and then to deep breaths, into Carlos’ tear-soaked, lavender-scented hair. The rain faded to a gentle mist, and then, it stopped.

 

They finally pulled back to look at each other, drenched, and Carlos was smiling softly.

 

“I missed you,” he said, and another tear fell down his face.

 

“I missed you, too,” Kevin said, wiping it away with the back of his finger.

 

The storm clouds had cleared, and the moon had risen, and the sky was filled with stars. A comet seared through the atmosphere, behind the lighthouse, and neither of them saw it through their tears.

 

“Do you feel any better?” Carlos asked.

 

“A little bit, I think,” Kevin said, sighing in exhaustion. He finally noticed that the pain had begun to fade from his body, so even as another tear dripped from his eye, he realized that he wasn’t just saying that; he really _did_ feel better. Even if it was only a little bit, it was more than perceptible enough to notice, now.

 

“That’s good,” Carlos said, and he smiled a sad smile, and brushed the tear away, flicking it into the waters below. Somehow, Kevin felt good, too, even as sadness soaked into every fiber of their clothing. He emptied several more buckets of tears out of the boat, after the last one.

 

“I’m going to try to get you home,” Carlos said. “Cecil and I both are. Especially now, it’s totally senseless for you to stay out here, by yourself. We’ve known that for a long time, but we weren’t sure how to approach it with the town. We still aren’t, and I don’t know how well our efforts will work, but we are going to try.”

 

“Even if it doesn’t work at all,” Kevin said, “I’m...well, I’m still very, very sad, but I’m grateful, and even more than that, I’m glad to see you again.”

 

“I’m sorry I made you so sad, Kevin,” Carlos whispered. A physical manifestation of his regret dripped into the bottom of the boat.

 

“What, this?” Kevin gestured to the eons of water. “Please don’t blame yourself for this! You didn’t cause _all_ of this, Carlos. And for what you did cause, I’m grateful to you for it. This is certainly quite an issue, for sure! But I remembered how to cry, because of you. I haven’t felt so _free_ in...well, a very, very long time. And, in the end, it brought us back together, which seems like its own justification.”

 

“That’s true,” Carlos said. His eyes welled up again. “I’m grateful to you, too. Thank you for sharing your sadness with me, Kevin.”

 

“Thank you for seeing its depths, and still swimming out to me,” Kevin said, and his eyes welled up, too. “I can’t tell you what that means.”

 

“I’ll do it again, as many times as you need,” Carlos said. “I don’t mind doing that. Not at all.”

 

They rowed to the barrier between one world and the next, and tied the boat to part of the wire that stuck up above it. Tomorrow, they would try and face the town on the other side of it, together. But for now, Kevin laid back down into Carlos’ arms, soft and warm and more peaceful than he had felt in years. Another tear leaked from each of his eyes, and onto Carlos’ sopping coat, and Carlos only held him tighter. They fell asleep in Kevin’s boat, just like that, floating just above the ocean that was not an ocean, and floating just under the cosmos, which sparkled above like suspended teardrops.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that if you have had too many tears of your own, you can find solace in my story. I have had too many tears, too, but they are good things, and can be what saves us from grief and isolation. So cry if you need to, even if you have a whole ocean in you, and know that at the very least, from beyond the binary codes and cyberspace and time between us, I love you for it.
> 
> (As always, please feel free to comment below, if you would like.)


End file.
